X is not just for xylophone

1) ‘Hey, where are you from?’
I give him three guesses.
‘Scottish Highlands?’
‘No’.
‘South Islands?’
‘No.’
‘Ok, say something else…. Say something!’
It’s becoming a challenge; of course I don’t want him to guess. I blather on, trying hard to make my accent impossible to place.
‘Not British?’
‘No.’
‘Israel?’
‘No. You’ve had your three guesses. French’.
I brace myself for the inevitable, and the inevitable comes:
‘Ah! Run away! Run away! Your people did it because we won the Olympics!’
He means the bombs, of course.
‘Oh, c’mon. If my people had done it, they’d made a much better job of it. And you haven’t won the Olympics, you’ve just signed up for a massive 20-year debt.’

2) Maybe the time has come to pretend to be Belgian. Or Swiss. Or Luxemburger. No one hates Luxembergers. Just so I never get to hear ‘if it weren’t for us you’d be speaking German right now’ ever again., or ‘we won against the French’ like it’s a war. Only in your head, because you need an anal massage.

3) I had a #3 but I’m too tired and grumpy. Still, I wonder if Luxembourg gives citizenship easily.